


For Me

by pinecovewoods



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M, descriptions of wounds ig??, i wrote it in like an hour, it's post strike when they got soaked by the bulls, its super short but, minor mentions of the other boys but they're not in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 05:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16867225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinecovewoods/pseuds/pinecovewoods
Summary: Spot swallows roughly as he takes in her appearance; dried blood on both her knuckles and her face along with the budding bruise on her jaw. His gaze hardens, hands curling into fists behind his back."You went?"





	For Me

The Brooklyn boy hears her voice before he sees her coming, something he should have been used to by now.

"I don't care what he said, Boots," he hears through his open window, "let me in or I swear to god I'll burn this place down."

He can't help but let out a light chuckle, imagining the look of sheer terror that must reside on any of the newsies within ear shot of the conversation.

"I don't think you's gettin' it," he hears, "I'm goin' up to see Conlon whether he likes it or not."

The sound of his last name reminds him why she's there, why she's angry, and his smile falls off of his face along with his confidence.

A few minutes later Spot's door slams open as she storms in, shoving the piece of wood shut behind her.

Spot swallows roughly as he takes in her appearance; dried blood on both her knuckles and her face along with the budding bruise on her jaw. His gaze hardens, hands curling into fists behind his back.

"You went?"

"Of course I went," she spits, "why the hell wouldn't I? They's my borough, my family. Unlike some people."

"It's not like that," Spot sighs, dragging a hand over his face in frustration, "you know I have to think bigger than myself, Y/N, I gots boys to look after, little ones."

The girl scoffs, planting herself on his bed with no hesitation. For a moment, Spot almost looses it, but then he looks at her again, watches her pick the dried blood off of her knuckles, and that's enough to keep his temper down.

"You don't get it," Spot says, "being a leader, it's harder than you's think. I'm doin' my best 'ere."

"You don't think I gets it?" She questions. "I'm the third highest ranking newsie in Manhattan, maybe I'm not the 'King of Brooklyn' like some but I have a say in what we do, and I voted to strike, Spot, because this is important. Not only to us in 'Hattan but to all the kids in New York," she keeps her gaze on her hands, "Pulitzer and all the newspaper owners push us around like we are nothin', and I am sick and tired of bein' treated like I'm nothin'."

Spot stays silent, eyes trained on her frame. He watches as she wipes away invisible tears, the bruise on her jaw more prominent than before.

"You know, none of the other borough's showed up," she says shaking her head, "not that I's expected them too after Jack said you weren't comin', but still, I'd hoped maybe one'a them would had what it takes to go against Spot Conlon."

"I never told no one that they's shouldn't go, just my boys," Spot defends.

"Doesn't matter, you's coulda gone around an' personally told every single newsie in New York to go, but as soon as they found out you weren't showin' they wouldn't've either. You're important, Spot, to a lot of people, to me," she pauses, swallowing, "and I thought I was important to you."

"You is important to me, doll," he tries to be gentle, but the bile rising in his throat is making it hard, "I just...I had a lot of variables, I had a lot of young boys that I couldn't bring myself to put through what I was afraid would happen. It could'a gone bad, Y/N, boys could die in'a fight like that."

Y/N shoots up from her spot on the bed, eyes blazing with rage.

"You don't think I know that? You're not the only one with boys to look after, Spot!" She almost shouts, pacing around his room. "Half my boys is laid up with broke bones, or worse. You remember Finch, right?" She asks, continuing after the Brooklyn boy nods. "He's got three busted ribs, and course we need t' put 'im on bed rest but he can't afford to miss a day of work. And Romeo," she pauses, shaking her head, "he's just a kid, he's twelve years old and a bull knocked 'im in his head so hard he was on the ground for almost the entire fight, and now hours later he still barely remembers anyone in the Lodge."

Spot almost chokes, but he's not sure on what - possibly on the fact that Manhattan has young boys too, and they still didn't back down.

"I shoulda been there," he whispers, "I shoulda at least sent a few boys or somethin', I was bein' selfish, I'm sorry."

The girl nods, standing by Spot's window and gazing down at the streets of Brooklyn. He knows the nod isn't acceptance, more of an acknowledgment, but that's more than he can ask for after what she's been through.

They're silent for a while, Y/N again picking at the blood on her knuckles.

"Sorry doesn't fix Finch's bones or Romeo's head or Mush's eye or Sniper's wrist or Les's," she stops, and this time Spot can see the tears in her eyes, "or Les's shoulder. Doesn't fix those like me who got out with only a couple of scratches neither."

Spot stands, eyes trained on the white bandage peaking out under the sleeve of her shirt. Silently, and without protest from her, he lifts the cloth, letting out an involuntary gasp at the blood soaked gauze covering a good part of her upper arm.

"Look's worse than it is," she mumbles, pushing her shirt back down, "Davey fixed it up as best he could, said it didn't warrant a doctor."

"What...what happened?" Spot asks quietly.

"We got slaughtered, that's what happened," she shakes her head, "one of Wiesel's guys got me with a knife as I was pullin' 'im offa Buttons," she explains, "I just...I don't get how you could completely desert us like that. We needed you there, I needed you there. We's doin' this for all the kids in this damn city. You couldn't do this for them, or for yourself or...you couldn't'a done this for me?"

Her eyes are back on the Brooklyn skyline, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the window sill, and it's all Spot can do to hold himself back from yelling.

"I would do anythin' for you, Y/N, you know that," he says, pulling on the girl's good shoulder so she looks at him, "I'm sorry I wasn't there today, I'm sorry none o' the others showed up," his voice rises with each word, and behind the anger Y/N can see fear, "I feel terrible, and if I could go back and be there I would, but I can't. Alls I can say is I'm sorry, and I'll be sorry for the rest o' my life."

They stare at each as his words fade into the air, both pairs of eyes searching the others for some sort of response.

"This ain't over, Spot," she shakes her head, "please tell me you'll be there tomorrow, you and your boys. We need you, now more than ever."

Spot nods vigorously, hand cupping her cheek and wiping away a few stray tears from her face.

"We'll be there, all of us, I promise," he whispers, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He pulls her into his chest, the girl burying her face in the crook of his neck as she lets out a few involuntary sobs.

"I know, I'm sorry," he repeats softly, stroking her hair to help calm her down, "it'll be okay, I promise."

She pulls back, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Careful of the bruise, Spot tilts her head up and presses their lips together for the first time since she got there.

It doesn't go deeper than that, just a simple kiss that brings them back together. And when they pull apart, things already feel better.

"Look at me," he says, swallowing back the lump in his throat, "I'm sorry that I screwed up today, I will never let that happen again, I promise. I love you."

"I-" she smiles, cheeks burning red at his words, "I love you too, Spot."

Spot smiles back, stroking her cheek once more before walking over to his desk.

"I'll send word t' the other boroughs, let them know Brooklyn's comin'," he says, scribbling some words on paper, "you wanna stay here tonight?"

"Nah, I should head back," she replies reluctantly, "I need t' help Racer and Davey with the boys, make sure no one gets any worse than they's already are. I'll see you's tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," he whispers, "I'll see you's tomorrow."

"We're gonna win this, Spot," she nods, "I can feel it. No more bein' treated like nothin'."

"You is so much more than nothin', doll," he smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to the bruise on her jaw, "so much more."


End file.
